


Between Shadows and The Soul

by AlastorGrim



Series: Castle AUs [1]
Category: Castle (TV) RPF, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Author Jack Frost, BAMF Pitch Black, Castle AU, Crime Drama, Detective Pitch, Drinking Games, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Government Conspiracy, Humor, Jack Frost is a Little Shit, Multi, Murder, Pitch Is Done With Everyone, Sandy Is The Dad Friend, Sex Jokes, Tattooed Pitch Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18481696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlastorGrim/pseuds/AlastorGrim
Summary: When someone begins to copy scenes from a famous murder mystery series, Pitch is tasked with bringing in the author, Jack Frost, for questioning. Finding him innocent, Pitch is forced to let him go. Only, Jack doesn’t particularly want to leave.





	Between Shadows and The Soul

A tall, gray building loomed over the street, lined with black and white cars. Red and blue flashed over the glass walls, reflected off the tinted windows of the upper floors, and nearly blinded Pitch as he stalked into the lobby. He flashed his badge at the security guards with a grimace, then ducked under the caution tape to walk down the dark hall leading up to the crime scene.

He emerged into a side room off of a lavish apartment, a large black piano the centerpiece. It was a lovely piece, fairly new. 

Unfortunately, the view was marred by the corpse staged on top of it.

Neon hair tufted brightly over the head bowed over the corpse’s chest, gloved hands carefully picking through the flowers around the victim’s sternum. Pitch stuffed his badge into his back pocket and ventured closer. He nodded in acknowledgement when she glanced up at him. “Tooth. What have we got?”

She leaned up and grinned at him. “Hello to you too, Pitch.” Tooth gestured to the space she’d cleared on the victim’s chest, while still keeping the important bits covered. “The victim’s name is Alison Tisdale, female, twenty four. She was a Grad student at NYU.”

Pitch frowned. “Nice place for a grad student.”

“Daddy’s money,” A voice chirped from the foyer. Pitch turned to see Jamie waving a folder at him. “She was part of the Social Work program. Already well known.”

“ _Neighbors called to complain about the music. When she didn’t answer, they had the super come and check on her._ ” Sandy signed.

“No signs of struggle,” Tooth chimed in as she bent over to examine the wounds more closely.

Pitch circled around her, taking slow steps as he looked over the scene. Roses, red petals covering the piano, draped over the girl’s body like a dress. White roses over her eyes. A killer with modesty? Pitch narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen this somewhere before. “They knew her then.”

Jamie snorted. “Even bought her flowers. Who says romance is dead?”

“I do. Every friday night.” Pitch grumbled distractedly. He paused by the side, tall enough that the piano only came up to mid-thigh. “So what did they give her besides roses?”

“Two shots to the chest. Small caliber.” Tooth replied.

“Really?” Pitch’s brow furrowed. “Does this look...familiar, to anyone? He finally asked, only to get odd looks in return.

“No.” Jamie and Tooth chorused. Sandy shook his head, bemused.

Jamie shrugged and scratched the back of his head with the folder. “But then again, I’m not one for the freaky ones. Just give me ‘Bill shot Bob over Jill’ and let me file my paperwork and go home.”

Pitch rolled his eyes and stepped back from his looming over the bullet wounds. He shot Jamie a scathing look. “The ‘freaky’ ones require more. And as such they tend to reveal more. Look at how they left her,” He swept his hand over the display. “Covered modestly.”

Tooth glanced up, “So?”

“ _So_ ,” Pitch stressed, annoyed. “Despite all of the effort, all of the preparation, you won’t find any evidence of sexual abuse.” It hit him then. He knew _exactly_ where he’d seen this before.

“You got all that just from this?” Jamie eyed the body incredulously.

“Yes. Also, I have seen this before.” 

Jamie looked doubtful, but Sandy’s eyes widened. “ _You’ve seen this before? Where?_ ”

 

•❄️•

 

“Really, sis, who does homework at a party?”

Ruth looked up at her brother through her bangs, lips twitched up. The room was loud with chattering voices, smoke and velvet and gold wrapped up into a familiar aesthetic that blanketed Ruth’s every other weekend. Jack leaned too far over the bar—which was much too tall for him—to order a drink, one knee propped onto the stool. “I have a test next week.”

Jack scoffed and leaned back as two glasses of bubbly pink liquid were placed in front of him. Well, she supposed he could squeeze two; it was his party, after all. “So do I. Liver function. You don’t see me studying.”

Before Ruth could reply, a large hand clapped Jack on the back and nearly sent him toppling over the bar. “Jack! Your sales must be slipping, they are only serving soft stuff!”

“Nick,” Jack wheezed, “Give me a heart attack, why don’t you?”

“Nonsense. You are far too young for me to be doing such things. Perfect health. Much like myself!” Nicholas puffed proudly.

“Pa—” Ruth began, only to be interrupted.

“Hush! Not so loud, I am still looking to use my perfect health to the fullest tonight, yes?” He winked, the flush above his moustache indicative of just how much ‘soft stuff’ he’d had beforehand.

Jack hid his face in the cup of his glass, his voice muffled by the champagne. “Gross. I do not wanna know about how you use your health.”

Nicholas waved him off. “Pah! What is big deal? Oh,” He grabbed Jack’s shoulder before he could answer. “Hold on, I am sensing that woman there is—Yes! No ring. Stand back, lad, and let me show you how it is being done.”

Rolling his eyes as their adoptive guardian shimmied into a circle of refined ladies, Jack turned back to Ruth and tapped the metal of her stool with his flat. “You should have me committed.”

“Why? For letting him move in with us? He did a lot for us, Jackie, and you’re just paying it back. Besides, I think it’s sweet.”

“It won’t be when I strangle him,” Jack snarked half-heartedly, a smile on his lips. He nudged the other glass towards her. “Here, for you.”

“You know I’m only twelve, right?” Ruth raised an eyebrow at him.

Jack grinned at her and pushed it closer. “You’re an old soul.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Certainly older than yours. You’re twenty four and act like you’re eight.”

The flat moved to prod at her knee in reproach. “I resent that. Actually—no, I’ll take it as a compliment. Eight year olds have all the fun, you know, and I think I am having as much fun as can possibly be at this point in time. It may not be coloring books and dinosaurs, but I like to think adults can get more creative.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and laughed when she groaned.

“Yeah, well, me and my soul can wait.” She pushed the glass back firmly, but she was still smiling.

Flailing a hand wildly, Jack started in, “You know, when I was your age…” He stopped. “No, I can’t tell that story, it’s wildly inappropriate. Which, oddly, is my _point_ , sis! Don’t you want to have wildly inappropriate stories that you can’t tell around young children?”

“I think you have enough for the both of us. Not including your murdery books.”

“Life should be an adventure,” Jack flung his hands up in dramatic despair, ignoring her snipe. “You know why I ended latest book the way I did? Because there were no more surprises! I knew what was gonna happen and when it was gonna happen in every scene. It’s just like these parties. They’ve become so predictable, always the same lines. ‘Where do you get your ideas?’, ‘I’m your biggest fan!’, and ‘Will you sign my pecs?’” Jack averted his eyes sheepishly when Ruth gave him a blunt look. “Well, maybe I don’t mind that last one so much.”

“Just the ones that have boobs right? No boobs for you.” Ruth snarked back. She turned attention back to her homework.

“Boobs are overrated,” Jack drawled dismissively. He flapped a hand at her with a huff, “My point is, everything is the same. Just once, I’d like someone to come up to me and say something new.” He propped his chin in his hand, a downward turn to his lips.

“Mr. Frost?”

Jack straightened up immediately, spinning on his stool with a smile plastered on his face. “Do you have a pen?”

He faltered when his eyes met a pair of unamused, amber eyes. A tall man with sharp features, slicked back hair, and a broadness to his shoulders that made Jack’s knees weak flashed a federal badge at him. “Detective Pitchiner, NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions about a murder that occurred earlier tonight.”

_What?_

Ruth whistled appreciatively. “That’s new.”

 

•❄️•

 

“Mr. Frost, you have got quite the rap sheet for a best-selling author,” Pitch flipped through the file before him. “Disorderly conduct, resisting arrest.” He raised an eyebrow over the file at the boy across from him.

White locks wild and disheveled from running his hands through it so many times in the past hour fell over bright blue eyes. He was short, a dull blue trenchcoat with white trimming buttoned from his naval down. A dress shirt that looked it cost more than Pitch’s apartment was rumpled up beneath it. He looked much younger than twenty four in the daylight. Jackson Frost grinned sheepishly up at him.

“Boys will be boys?”

“It says here that you stole a police horse.”

“Borrowed,” Frost quickly corrected with a stifled noise, head ducked.

“And you stripped yourself nearly bare atop it, while riding down maine street. In the middle of winter.” Pitch continued, unamused.

“Hey, lingerie that looked that good had to be shared with the world. Besides, the cold doesn’t bother me anyway.” Frost shrugged, nonchalant. 

Pitch’s eye twitched. “And every time, the charges were dropped.”

The grin that curled the boy’s lips made Pitch want to kick him. “What can I say? They mayor’s a fan.” Azure eyes roved over Pitch for a moment before Jack leaned forward and fluttered his eyelashes up at him. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’d be happy to let you spank me.”

The _nerve_ of this brat. 

Pitch bit back a growl, eyes narrowed into slits. “Mr. Frost, that whole bad little boy routine you have going on there might work for the celebutantes and bimbos you no doubt surround yourself with. But me? I work for a living. So that makes one of two things in my world; the guy who make my job easier, or the guy who makes my job harder. And trust me, you do _not_ want to be the one to make my job harder.”

“Ooo, you gave me chills,” Frost shuddered and smirked at him. When Pitch didn’t respond, he sighed. “Okay, okay. I’ll cooperate.”

“Wonderful.” Pitch deadpanned. He slid a photo out of the file and slammed it down in front of Frost. “Alison Tisdale. Daughter of real estate mogul Jonathan Tisdale.”

“She’s cute.” 

“She’s dead. Did you ever meet her? Book signing, charity event?”

Frost scoffed and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, “She wasn’t in my little black book, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Pitch took out the next photo. “What about this one? Marvin Fisk. Small claims lawyer.”

“Most of my claims tend to be on the large side.” Frost raised an eyebrow at him, cheeky. Pitch bristled. “So what’s this got to do with me?”

“I admit that I didn’t put it together until we found the Tisdale crime scene tonight,” Pitch began, placing the photo from the crime scene over Fisk. He was going to continue, but Frost jolted forward and interrupted him. 

“Roses For Your Grave,” He breathed, eyes wide in shock.

Pitch paused a moment to take in the reaction, before slowly taking out the other photo and displaying it as well. “And this is how we found Marvin Fisk. Right out of Disco Inferno.”

Frost blinked and glanced up then, head tilted curiously. “Looks like I have a fan.”

Huffing, Pitch splayed the photos out beside each other, “Yes. A rather deranged one at that.”

Those eyes flicked up and down his form once more. Frost smiled. “You don’t look too deranged to me.” 

“What?” Pitch said sharply.

“Disco Inferno?” Frost’s smile widened. “Angry satanists trying to summon an ice god? Come _on_ , only my hardcore fans read those.”

“Do any of those fans ever write you letters?” Pitch ground out, studiously not looking at the smug boy across from him. “Disturbing letters?” He continued, just to steer away from the topic of his choice in literature.

Frost snorted and rolled his eyes. He cocked his chair back and balanced it on two legs. “All of my fanmail is disturbing. It’s an occupational hazard.”

Pitch studied Frost for a minute, then folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Sometimes, in these types of cases, we find that the killer att—”

“Killer attempts to contact the subject of their obsession.” Frost blurted out before he could finish, realization written in his surprised expression. Then he seemed to realize that Pitch was glowering at him, and fell back into his slouched charm. “I’m kinda well-versed in psychopathic methodology. Another occupational hazard,” He knocked his chair back onto all fours and propped his cheek in his palm, an overly earnest expression pasted on his face. “And do you know that you have the most _gorgeous_ eyes?” Frost crooned, all types of suggestion shimmering in his gaze.

“So I take it that you won’t have any objection to us going through your mail.” Pitch replied, complete ignoring the latter statement.

Deflating a bit at being brushed off, Frost shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Pitch gathered up the photos and tucked them back into his folder. “Lovely. Then I think we’re done here, Mr. Frost.”

Frost folded his hands on top of his chest, a smirk on his lips. “Shame. I hope to see you around, Detective.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Frost, I am sure you will,” Pitch drawled. He stood up and slid his chair back under the table. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”

 

•❄️•

 

Jack stepped into his penthouse with a sigh, his back laid against the door. He toed his flats off, shed his coat, and hooked it on the stand by the door. He raised an eyebrow at the racket emanating from down the hall.

The loud sound of Shostakovich’s No. 2 waltz banged into piano keys rattled down the hall, a woman’s voice and a woody screech accompanying it.

“Nick,” Jack grumbled fondly with a shake of his head. He slunk his way into the kitchen to grab a glass of wine before passing out, only to find Ruth at the island still doing her homework, her headphones tucked soundly on her head. Jack hooked them back and down to her shoulders. “You’re missing the show.”

“I saw it in its previews.” Ruth answered dryly.

“Sounds like he’s got a new lead singer,” Jack mused as he popped open the freezer and fished around for a tub of ice cream.

“Her name is Beth. She plays violin.”

“Wonderful.”

“Pa certainly thought so,” Ruth murmured as she focused back on her homework. Her pen tapped against her teeth as she bit her lip in thought.

Jack dug a spoon out of the silverware drawer and scooped a large ball of chocolate ice cream onto it. Then he stuck it in Ruth’s face and waved it enticingly. “You want a bowl?”

Ruth smiled up at him wryly. “Already brushed.”

Steering the spoon back to his lips, Jack shrugged. “Your loss.”

Abandoning all pretense of getting work done in Jack’s presence, Ruth put down her pen and folded her arms onto the table. “Sooo, are you gonna tell me about it?” When Jack just averted his eyes, cheeks bulged out from the ridiculous amount of ice cream he’d managed to stuff in his face, she sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to look it up on your fansites.”

Swallowing down the lump still melting in his mouth and nearly choking, Jack whirled on Ruth with a finger brandished at her smug face. “Ah ah! We had a deal; surf the internet all you want, but you stay _off_ the fansites.”

“Seriously, Jackie, are you in some sort of trouble?” Ruth frowned, brow furrowed.

“Despite my best efforts,” Jack drawled as he dug another scoop out of the tub, determined to savor it this time. “No. They want my help on a case.”

Ruth blinked. “Why do I feel like they didn’t actually ask, but you’re going to butt in anyway?”

Jack hummed and waggled his eyebrows. “Because that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” He mused tunefully. They both winced as the duo in the drawing room got especially loud. Jack shook his head. “Someone’s been killing people the way I killed them in my books.”

Brown eyes widened, mouth twisted in worry. Ruth looked concerned. “That’s horrible. How many so far?”

Jack sighed as he popped the lid back on the tub and replaced it in the freezer. He stuck the last spoonful in his mouth and frowned. “Just two.”

“I know your books mean a lot to you, Jack. Are you okay?” Ruth inquired softly.

“Yeah,” He answered absently. He pushed himself off the island and took off down the other hall towards his office. Startled, Ruth jolted up off her chair and followed after him. She caught his arm and let him pull her along as he went, socks skidding over the lacquered hardwood. “It’s just so senseless.”

“Murder usually is.” Ruth tipped her head at him as he distractedly spun her by the elbows so that he was pushing her along in front of him like a lawnmower.

Jack clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Nope. Murder usually make more sense than anything else. Passion, greed, politics. What’s senseless here, is what the killer chose to copy.” He set her back on balance and turned into his office, the christmas lights strung up around the ceiling casting comical shadows over his unusually serious face. He knelt by one of his bookcases and began to rummage around. Huffing, he tugged out two books and looked them over with a glare. “Disco Inferno? Roses For Your Grave? These are two of my worst works. I wrote Disco Inferno when I was fifteen, Ruth. Fifteen!” He sat back on his haunches with a frustrated sound. “Why would a psychotic killer pick those?”

Leaning against the doorway, Ruth blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Maybe because he’s psychotic?”

Wagging a finger at her, Jack looked over the books once more. “Don’t gender stereotype, lil’ sis. You’ll never catch killers like that.” He spent another moment studying the books with pursed lips, as if he could make the answers rise to the cover if he stared at it hard enough. When nothing of the sort happened, he shoved them back into their places with a sigh. Jack stood and brushed off his slacks. 

“Come on. It’s bedtime for you, Shirley.”

“Don’t call me Shirley. Honestly, I don’t even know where you _got_ that—”

 

•❄️•

 

Pitch set a box on his desk, and Jamie’s desk respectively. Jamie jumped and blinked, eyes wide. He looked up at Pitch with raised eyebrows. “What’s this?”

“Frost’s greatest hits. You are going to go over the prominent murder scenes so we don’t miss any, should they come up,” He explained, then turned back to the white board and began to scribble names at the top. “First victim, male lawyer. Second victim, female social worker. Somewhere in those books, these two are connected.” He muttered, marker cap bitten between his teeth.

“Where did all these come from?” Jamie exclaimed, completely disregarding Pitch’s speech. He side-eyed Sandy, who signed something that Pitch couldn’t see, and grinned. “Hold up, really?” He laughed and turned back to Pitch with playful accusation in his eyes. Jamie plucked up the nearest book and pointed it at Pitch. 

“Dude! You’re totally a fan. Let me guess, you signed your name in the front? Let’s see—here it is! ‘Property of Emily Jane…” Jamie’s jovial voice withered and died, trailed off into nothing. His face paled and his head whipped up to stare at Pitch, stricken. “Oh man, I am _so_ sorry, Pitch. I-I should’ve—”

“Just read the damn books, Bennett,” Pitch snapped, jaw clenched. He turned jerkily back to the board and began trying to cripple the markers again.

Sandy rolled his chair into view of Pitch this time to sign, “ _Pitch is right. Whoever did this read Frost’s books, and somewhere in them in the answer to where they’ll strike next._ ”

Pointing the now stubbed marker in Sandy’s direction, Pitch nodded. “Exactly. Thank you, Sandy.”

“ _Anytime._ ”

“Have we heard back from the lab?” Jamie asked, eager to change the subject. 

“ _Yes. The scene was negative for DNA and prints, just like Fisk. The psycho is careful._ ” Sandy frowned, obviously as unhappy about that as Pitch was.

A heavy sigh gusted out of Pitch’s lips, thumbs between his eyebrows to alleviate the sudden headache pinging around in his skull. He capped the decapitated marker, grabbed his files, and turned to head to the commissioner’s office. Sandy hopped up to follow after him. “What about Tisdale and Fisk? Any connection?”

Sandy’s face was stoic, which was odd, as the man normally had a chiper smile curled on his lips. He was staring at something in front of them as he signed. “ _Other than your boy there, nothing._ ”

Pitch’s head jerked up from his files to stare, wide-eyed, at the familiar white hair and cocky grin standing before his Captain, speaking to him in low tones. Something hot and sharp bubbled up in Pitch’s chest. 

“What is he doing here?” He hissed, incensed.

“ _Maybe he likes you,_ ” Sandy replied cheekily, and walked away.

Blood pressure raising by the second, Pitch stalked into the office, scowl in place as he glowered at Frost. The brat tilted his head and smirked up at him. “Detective Pitchiner.”

Clearing his throat, Captain Ombric gave Pitch a pointed look. “Pitch?”

Immediately falling into a more respectable stance, Pitch clasped his hand behind his back and inclined his head. “Yes, sir?”

“Mr. Frost here has offered to assist with the investigation.” Ombric explained with a lazy gesture at Frost, who smiled innocently.

“Really,” Pitch deadpanned, nonplussed.

“It’s the least I can do for the city I love,” Frost simpered.

Ombric heaved a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Considering the nature of the crime scenes, Pitch, I think that it’s a good idea.”

Panic immediately set in. Pitch ahifted on his feet, antsy, “Sir, can I speak with your for a moment? In private?”

A smile twitching his lips as if he knew _exactly_ what Pitch was thinking, Ombric turned and began to walk away. “No. Have fun!”

What the _hell_.

While Pitch gaped after the Captain, Frost saddled up beside him. “I brought my mail myself. You know, getting started being helpful on the case. Thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I’m sure,” Pitch got out after a moment, tone harsh. “Then you won’t mind sorting through it with us, will you?”

“Not at all, Pitch.” Frost mused, rocking back on his heels with a grin.

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

“Sure thing, Pitch.”

Growling in frustration, Pitch spun on heel and stalked off towards one of the side rooms, Frost close on his heels. Three large garbage bags filled to the brim with envelopes sat by the conference table, already opened. Apparently someone had went ahead and delegated most of the sorting job to him.

He grabbed the nearest bag and thrust it in Frost’s face. “There. Get reading.”

Surprisingly, Frost acquiesced without a word. He settled in the chair across from Pitch’s, feet tucked into the chair with him as he began to go through the bag of mail. Pitch sat down in his chair with a wary look at Frost, but the boy didn’t look up from the letter he’d opened. Relaxing slightly, Pitch sat back and fished out his own letter. They were in for the long haul, it seemed.

However, after ten minutes of fairly peaceful silence save for the rustle of papers, Pitch’s hope for a productive work session was dashed.

Movement from the corner of his eye had Pitch frowning, the sensation of eyes on him making his skin crawl. He glanced up just in time to see the top fold of a letter snap up into place to shield everything but that head of wild hair from view. Amber eyes narrowed and turned back to his own paper after a moment.

Thirty seconds later, it happened again. Pitch tried to ignore it, but he never liked people ogling while he read. He snapped his eyes over to Frost again, and this time he wasn’t able to look away fast enough. 

“What?” Pitch demanded with a glare.

“Nothing,” Frost said hastily, but he looked anything but contrite. He seemed to be biting down a smile. “Just the way your brow furrows when you’re concentrating. It’s hot.” Frost thougjt this over for a moment, oblivious to Pitch’s growing irritation. “Unless you’re playing poker. Then it’d be deadly. But otherwise—”

“Can I ask you a question?” Pitch interrupted before Frost could go off on a tangent.

He perked up. “Shoot.”

Pitch put down the letter and studied Frost for a minute. “Why are you here?” When Frost merely blinked at him, Pitch elaborated. “You don’t seem to care about the victims, so you are not here for justice. The killer is raking your books over the coals, but you’re more excited about that than enraged. So what is it, Frost? Are you here to annoy me? Hinder my investigation?”

The sleeves of the large blue trench coat fluttered as Frost kicked out his legs and leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. “Well, I’m here in part because I like looking at your grumpy face. It just brightens up my day. But for the most part, I’m here for the story.”

Incredulous, Pitch tipped his head. “The story?”

“Why those people? Why those murders? Why those books?” Frost went on, gaze intent as if willing Pitch to understand.

Pitch scoffed and picked up the letter again. “Sometimes there is no story. Sometimes people are just psychotic.”

“There is _always_ a story,” Frost insisted. “Always a chain of events that makes everything make sense. Take you, for example.” Pitch scowled, but he plowed on. “Under normal circumstances, you shouldn’t be here. Most smart, sophisticated men become politicians, not cops. And yet here you sit. Why?” He peered at Pitch intensely, like he could pierce through Pitch’s shell and see into his chest.

“I don’t know, Frost,” Pitch drawled sarcastically. “You’re the novelist; you tell me.”

Frost immediately rose to the challenge, posture straightened out. “Let’s see. There’s no bridge-and-tunnel in your accent, so that means you didn’t grow up in the city. No, it’s older, thicker, almost haughty—that means money. You went to college, probably a high end one, but got out doing something small. You wanted to work your way up. You had options. Better options, ambitious options, _higher paid_ options. And yet you chose this,” He kept his eyes steady on Pitch, whose irritated expression had faded. “That tells me something happened. Not to you, no; you’re wounded but you’re not _that_ wounded. It was someone close to you. Someone you loved. And you probably could’ve lived with that...except the person responsible was never caught.”

The tension that accumulated in the room could have been cut with a knife. Pitch stared back at him, unblinking, face completely blank. A minute or so of their strange staring contest was broken by Frost averting his eyes back down to his letter.

“And that, Detective Pitchiner, is why you’re here.”

Pitch’s mouth twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile, wasn’t quite a grimace as he focused back on the paper in his hands. “Cute trick. But do not think yourself familiar with me.”

Frost’s smile came back at once, white and blinding. “I wouldn’t dare. But my point is, there’s always a story. You just have to find it.”

But Pitch’s gaze had sharpened on the page before him, racing across the page at top speed. “I think I just did.”

He pushed himself to his feet and strode quickly out of the room and around the main desks towards the back hall. Frost yelped and scrambled up to follow him. “Whoa, hey! Where are you going?”

Pitch ignored him. He jogged down the stairs, a thud and a curse telling him that he’d managed to hit Frost with the door on his way down. Pitch burst into the lab, letter in hand. “Tooth. I need the prints lifted from this as soon as possible.”

“Hello to you too, Pitch,” She chirped, as usual when he didn’t bother with greetings. Raising a lilac eyebrow at the bumbling idiot that came tumbling in behind him, Tooth smiled and took the letter with gloved hands. “You think that’s our killer?”

“I think that this one is a high possibility,” He affirmed. 

“And who’s the doll behind you?” 

“Ignore him.” Pitch pinned her with a warning glare when she waggled her eyebrows at him.

Frost winked at her as he slunk up beside Pitch once more. “Jackson Frost, best-selling author. You can call me Jack.”

They shook hands and Tooth hummed. “Nice to meet you, Jack. Provided you’re telling the truth and aren’t a murdering sociopath, that is.”

“Lovely to see the bar set so high, Tatiana,” Pitch cut in dryly.

“Just because you’re a paranoid bastard doesn’t mean all of us have to be,” She sniped back as she grabbed the dusting brush and the power. A few moments later, she ran the paper beneath a white hook of plastic to scan it, prints stark and black against the yellowed paper. The contraption buzzed, and Tooth slid the papers back to him.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime, you grump.”

With a withering look, Pitch spun and walked out of the lab towards the top floor once more. Frost came after him, much less frantic this time. He looked curious, but didn’t say anything until they were back at Pitch’s desk. 

He dragged over an office chair and plopped down into it. “So, when will we know who murdt Ally and Marv?”

Pitch’s jaw clenched in annoyance. “Murdt? Ally and Marv? I am going to assume that you don’t write the way you speak.” He logged into his computer and began to go through his emails, just to see if he’d missed something. “And Tooth just ran the prints. The system is backlogged, so it will take at least a week to get them back to us.”

“A _week_?” Jack exclaimed, stunned.

“Welcome to reality, Frost.” Pitch replied without any sympathy. It would do the brat some good to realize that the world didn’t revolve around him.

“Yeah, well, I never did much like reality,” Frost muttered as he fished out a phone from his coat pocket and punched in a few numbers. He put it to his ear as it began to ring, only having to wait a few moments before the other side answered. A grin curled his lips. “Hey, Denise, it’s Jack Frost. Yeah. Is he in? Awesome.”

“What are you doing?” Pitch questioned incredulously.

“Like I said, the mayor’s a fan,” Frost winked at him, then turned back to his phone call. “Yo, Baby! It’s Jack. You doing okay?” He got to his feet and wandered away from Pitch’s deak to have a bit more privacy.

A whistle just behind Pitch had him jumping, his wide-eyed stare switching from Jack to Jamie. The brunet smirked at him. “The man’s got the mayor on speed-dial. The rich really are different.”

Pitch made a frustrated noise and tore his eyes from Frost to focus on his screen again. “You want him? Take him. You would be doing me a favor.”

Jamie chuckled and gave Pitch a sly look. “A control freak like you with something you can’t control? Nah. This is gonna be more fun than Shark Week.”

He wheeled away back to his own desk as Frost hung up and made his way back over to them. “Alright, you should have your prints in an hour.”

Frost’s face fell when Pitch glowered at him. “Frost, half the people in here are waiting for prints. You don’t just jump the line.”

Before the brat could come up with another witty one-liner, Sandy came back in.

“ _Pitch, midtown. They found another one._ ”

 

•❄️•

 

“Kendra Pitney. She lived in the building—maintenance found her an hour ago.” Tooth rattled off.

“Death of An Ice Queen.” Jack mused as he looked upon the bloated, floating corpse of a dark haired girl in a blue dress, a steak knife in her back, in the middle of a swimming pool.

“Alright, let’s get her out of the water,” Pitch called. He turned to Jack and eyed him like he was some sort of leech attached to his coat sleeve. “You stay here, and don’t move.” His voice was firm, but by God his ass was firmer. Jack couldn’t help but stare at it appreciatively as the surly detective walked away.

Jack waited all of two minutes before sneaking his way from the door over to where Tooth was examining the body. He checked to make sure Pitch was still distracted by the crowd of other detectives, then peered over to stare at the body. When she glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, Jack smiled innocently. “I’m consulting.”

Tooth chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Right,” She drawled. She smiled at him. “You know, I love your books. You have a real gift with the details of death.”

Before Jack could reply, a shadow fell over them both. “I thought I told you to stay over there.”

“I got lonely!” Jack defended.

“Do you have cause of death yet, Tooth?” Pitch asked, ignoring Jack in spite.

“Not until we get her back to the lab. But from what I can tell—”

“It wasn’t a stabbing,” Jack interrupted. He smiled sheepishly when both of them turned to stare at him. “Lack of blood around the wound suggests that she was dead before she was stabbed. No foam around the mouth means she probably didn’t drown.”

Tooth eyed him appreciatively. “Oh you’re good.”

“Thank you.”

Pitch scowled at them both, but his brow had furrowed in bemusement. “So she was killed first and then posed, just like the others.”

Tooth hummed. “Yep. But again, we won’t know what actually killed her until I get her in the lab.”

Nodding jerkily, Pitch snapped his gaze to Jack once more. “Can I have a word?”

Bewildered, Jack gave his assent and followed Pitch when he stalked off away from the crowded scene. Jack almost slammed into his back when he stopped suddenly and whirled on him. He blinked. “Something wrong?”

“This is a homicide investigation, not a day at Disneyland,” Pitch retorted furiously. “If I give you an order I expect you to obey it.”

“Ah, then you don’t know me very well,” Jack sang, amused now. “You know, in my book, the dress was white.” He went on before Pitch could shout at him. 

“Don’t try and change the subject.”

“Pitchiner,” It was one of the detectives from the clump of cops examining the pool. “They got a match off the print. Kyle Cabot, Brooklyn. We got him.”


End file.
